Just Like We're Playing House
by history lady 24
Summary: A moment in this kitchen between Sybil and Tom set during Season 2, Episode 1, between Sybil baking in the kitchen and before York. My attempt to explain part of what happened between them that would give Tom the courage to propose to York.


_He opened the door to their flat and inhaled. He loved coming home at night to Sybil. The smell of a warm cake fresh from the oven greeted his nose. Shrugging off his coat, he hung it on a hook by the front door. Reaching up to his head he brushed back his hair, trying to smooth the windblown strands. As he stood quietly he found himself listening for Sybil's footsteps. He suspected that she was probably in the kitchen, and hadn't heard him come in. She was probably preparing tea, knowing that her strength was in baking rather than cooking. She'd done well with Mrs. Patmore's baking lessons, she could bake cakes that were light as air. Tom made sure to praise them liberally, both to encourage her continued baking, as he had a sweet tooth, and because he knew she still felt rather inadequate in the kitchen overall. _

_Nothing, though, quite prepared him for the sight before him when he reached the kitchen doorway. Sybil was standing by the kitchen table, her back towards the doorway, intently beating a glaze for the cooling cake. So intent was she that she didn't hear him approach. He could feel his face break into a wicked grin at the sight of her. For as she stood there, bent over the cake concentrating, she was wearing a lovely blue apron – and nothing else._

_It took all of his self-control to not groan out loud at the sight before him. Instead, he stood perfectly still and watched her as she began to pour the glaze over the cake. When she was done she picked up a wooden spoon to scrape the rest of the glaze out of the bowl. Watching her, Tom reached up a hand and knocked on the woodwork of the doorframe. "Anybody home? I'm looking for a Mrs. Branson."_

_Sybil turned around, a wide and mischievous smile on her face. "Possibly. Who wants to know?"_

_Her eyes shifted from Tom back to the bowl. Tom watched in amusement and raw hunger – of many sorts – as she dipped two of her fingers into the bowl and coated them in the sweet glaze. Turning back to Tom, she stepped close to him, so he was just in arm's reach, and traced his lips with her glaze covered fingers._

_Tom closed his eyes and finally let the moan he'd been holding in escape from his lips. He opened his mouth and began to suck her fingers, at first for the sugary glaze, and then just for the taste of her. _

_Sybil took a step closer. "Who was this that was asking for Mrs. Branson?" she teased. In response Tom reached out his hands to pull her closer to him, his hands gripping her tightly to his body. Her soft curves met his hard frame, and they quickly began kissing, their mouths drinking in the taste of one another. It seemed that not matter how hard they tried, they could never get enough. As they kissed, Tom started to steer Sybil backwards, until she was leaning against he kitchen table. Breaking his hold on her for only a moment, to transfer the cake and bowl to the safety of the stove, he picked her up and sat her on the edge of the table, his hands reachin down to slide her apron up her legs…_

A crack of thunder ripped through the sky and Tom suddenly sat straight up in his bed, the noise stealing his from his rather delicious dream. He cursed loudly. Of all the times for a thunderstorm. Rising, he moved to stand next to his own small table, his dream fantasy following him as he stared at the small hard surface. He tried to revive the dream, picturing Sybil in a similar position on his table, but it just didn't quite fit. Shaking his head he took a deep drink from the half empty water glass he'd left on the table before going to bed a few hours before. As he drank he played the dream over in his mind again. She'd looked so lovely, so natural in the kitchen, as Mrs. Branson. She was obviously trying hard to do everything right, just as she had earlier when he'd caught her in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore during one of her baking lessons. He had no idea how many cups of tea he'd drank that day, looking for any excuse possible to be in the kitchen, watching her.

As he pictured her in the kitchen again, so proud as she flipped the cake out of the pan, his stomach growled. He remembered that after lounging around the kitchen most of the day he'd managed to miss dinner, having had to drive both Mrs. Crawley and Mr. Matthew to meetings that evening. He'd grabbed only a thick slice of bread with butter for dinner, earlier, and now he was quite hungry.

_Well, if I can't satisfy one need, _he thought, _might as well do something about the other._ Pulling on his dressing gown over his pajamas and reaching for his shoes and coat, he darted out the cottage door and towards the main house. He was thoroughly wet by the time he made it to the downstairs kitchen door. Turning the knob and opening the door, he stepped into the dark kitchen, his wet shoes squeaking on the floor. Hanging his dripping coat over the back of the nearest chair he then bent down to remove his shoes. He was grateful for the darkness, as he hoped to slip in and out quietly without announcing his presence to any other members of the staff. He suspected that Carson would not be pleased if he heard that the chauffeur had been seen in the house in his nightclothes in the middle of the night.

As he moved to stand up again, he accidentally bumped his head against the back of a nearby chair. He cursed under his breath.

"Are you alright? Who's there?"

The words came from the direction of the doorframe. Tom looked up quickly, his eyes widening at the sound of her voice. _Shit._ He'd been caught sneaking in, and by no less than the lovely Lady Sybil Crawley.

His face went red in the dark as his mind flashed instantly back to his dream.

"Hello?" She reached into the room to turn on the light. A warm glow suddenly flooded the room as Sybil stood still. "Oh, hello there. I didn't realize it was you. Why didn't you say anything?" Her tone warmed as she smiled in his direction, her eyes catching his.

_Because I was too busy picturing you on the table,_ he thought to himself wryly. Smiling in her direction he opened his mouth to speak, hoping something a bit more proper and acceptable would come out.

"Well, I had been hoping to sneak in unnoticed, but as that failed, I suppose we should just make the best of it, yes?" The comment was still not quite as innocent as he'd hoped, but good God! This was a little too close to his dream to be safe!

And God knew they weren't always as careful around each other as they should be. He thought back to the many times they had managed to 'accidentally' find themselves alone together, in the car, in the garage, out on the lawn. The times when he held her hand while helping her into the motor a little too long, and she squeezed his before letting go. The times they would accidentally brush against one another, Sybil's skirt just touching his pant leg, his fingers ghosting past her arm.

She smiled at him now, all warmth and beauty in her fine nightgown that Tom could see the collar of as it peaked out beneath her ruffled dressing gown.

"I just came to fetch a bite…"

"Shall we have some cake? I think there's some left from earlier. I noticed that when Carson cleared the tea tray away, there was still some cake on it. That is, of course, if you're brave enough to try my baking," she teased.

"I'm sure it will taste lovely, milady." He smiled. Cake sounded very good indeed. He wondered briefly if it was glazed.

She broke his gaze for a moment to look around. "Where do you suppose he would have put it?"

"I suspect it's probably in Mrs. Patmore's store cupboard. It's just in here."

Tom began to move towards the door frame, gesturing for Sybil to follow him. Instead of stepping aside to give him space to walk past, however, she stayed where she was. He felt himself drawing in a breath as he walked slowly past her, his hand brushing against hers as he passed. It took all of his restraint to keep his feet moving, when all he really wanted to do was grab both of her hands, press her body against the doorframe with his own, and kiss her soundly, showing her just how much he wanted her.

Sybil followed him closely, standing just at his elbow. Tonight she seemed to need to be very close to him, and Tom was not complaining.

Reaching up he brought down the plate with the cake on it. There was about a quarter of it left. He turned to hand it to her, but she had other ideas.

"Why don't you take that in the other room and I'll make us some tea to go with it? I know how, you know." She was beaming as she reached for the kettle, eager to show off her newfound kitchen skills.

Tom laughed and smiled. "So I've heard."

Turning on the water, she filled the kettle neatly and placed it on the stove, which was still somewhat warm from dinner earlier. "Do you know where the plates are kept?" she asked Tom, who was still standing close by, the cake plate in his hands.

"Um, they're somewhere over here, I think…" He turned around and looked blankly for something resembling a plate cupboard. Generally the kitchen maids set the servants' table before they sat down to dinner.

"Oh, you'll actually find them in there." Sybil pointed to the far end of the kitchen, in the cupboard next to the entry to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room.

Tom gave her an incredulous look. "How do you know where they are?"

Sybil smiled, her eyes darting to the kettle briefly becoming coming back and smiling into his. "When we were little girls Mary and Edith and I often snuck down after dinner for a late night treat after everyone was in bed. Mr. Carson used to leave a tin of biscuits for us on the table every night, just in case the Downton mice, as he called us, should come looking for a treat. Sometimes we'd explore a bit, and I remember finding the plate cupboard on night. As soon as we knew where they were, Mary began insisting that we eat our biscuits on plates, so as to be more proper. It was always my job to get them out and set the table."

A wide smile lit Tom's face as she told the story. He found his eyes following her hands as she gestured to the plate cupboard again, and suddenly he could see her, plain as day, a little girl with bouncing dark curls and a slightly pouting lower lip. She was a rosy, cheerful girl, with laughing eyes. His heart lurched as he suddenly realized that the picture in his mind was not only of Sybil as a child, but also that of the daughter that she might someday have. With him. A lump formed in his throat. Oh God, how he'd love her. How he'd love them both.

Taking the plates and two cups from the cupboard, he took them into the servants' dining hall. He placed them at right angles to one another, placing himself in Mrs. Hughes' normal seat, and her in Mr. Carson's, so he could watch her come through the doorway. She appeared there in a moment, a warm pot of tea and the cake on the tray in her hands. She smiled at him as she sat it on the table with only a bit of a wobble. "There."

As Tom watched her begin to pour the tea into their cups, he marveled at how incredibly intimate this all was. More intimate, in some ways actually, than his dream. Here they were, just the two of them, having a late night tea together in the kitchen, chatting amicably. She flushed prettily as she asked him how he took his tea, realizing that they had never shared a cup before. She then cut the leftover cake into two large slices, her hands shaking only a little when she went to shift them from one plate to the others. The first, which she proudly gave to him, stood tall on the plate, a perfect wedge. The second, which she kept for herself, flopped onto its side on the plate, causing her to pout ever so slightly. Tom thought in that moment that she was the most beautiful, womanly creature he had ever seen.

They ate their cake slowly, chatting amicably, their chairs turned to one another slightly so they could watch each other easily. When Tom finished his cup of tea Sybil refilled it for him without even asking, this time fixing the sugar for him and handing it back with a pleased smile. She seemed to be enjoying this too – this little midnight dream of shared domesticity. She seemed to relax there, with him, so much so that when she removed her hand from his saucer, she let it linger very closer to his cup, easily within his grasp. When Tom looked up at her face for permission, he was surprised at the need he saw in her eyes too.

Turning his palm over to face upward, he slid his hand just next to hers. She looked up at him, her mouth silent, her eyes speaking volumes, and silently took it. As soon as the smooth white skin of her hand met the slightly darker, rougher skin of his, they both breathed in a little fast, together, and Tom watched in fascination as Sybil closed her eyes. He drank in the look on her face, feeling like a drowning man that only she could save.

They sat there, silently, for a few minutes, neither one wanting to break the moment, both knowing it would eventually have to end. In an hour the kitchen maids would be down to begin their work. The clock chimed its reminder a moment later, and both looked up, the spell broken.

Sybil stood reluctantly, releasing Tom's hand. Gathering the tea things, she walked back into the kitchen, followed by Tom, who carried the dirty dishes. They cleaned up everything carefully, trying to be sure that everything in the kitchen was as it should be. Sybil washed the dishes quickly, and Tom dried them, placing everything back where it belonged. She only spoke one, a hushed comment about how nice this was. "A bit like playing house." Tom's eyes widened at the comment – he had been thinking the same thing but had not had the courage to say it. He had no response for this, nothing, other than to tell her that he loved her. Knowing the time wasn't right though, he just smiled.

She walked him to the door, watched as he put on his coat and shoes. She kept looking at his lips, desperately wanting him to kiss her, but knowing that he probably wouldn't. Instead, just as he reached for the door knob and turned it, she caught his other hand in hers, and quietly, slowly, reached up and kissed him on the cheek, her eyelashes fluttering on his skin as she hesitated before moving away, her breath hot on his face.

When he finally had the strength to open his eyes again, his body taunt with heat, she was gone, the hem of her nightgown just disappearing up the servants' steps. He breathed out all at once and turned, heading out into the last darkness of the night, his heart and mind too full to even contemplate more sleep.


End file.
